CDJMM – Volume 5 -Chapter 4 Civilization Rescue Team (4)

The Black Lion Mercenary Group—infamous cleaners in the dark underworld, holding a status even higher than kings in some small African nations.

But now— They had suffered a catastrophic defeat!

It all began one month ago.

They accepted a bounty from the black market, commissioned by the U.S. military, to hunt down a traitorous biologist.

They’d done many dirty jobs like this before, always ending them perfectly.

At first, Lawrence, the leader, only sent a seven-man squad. After all, the target was just a biologist—seven well-trained mercenaries should be more than enough.

Then, three days later, the entire squad vanished without a trace. Lawrence searched everywhere, but not a single clue surfaced—they had evaporated from the human world.

There was only one explanation: They had been completely obliterated.

Lawrence was stunned. Clearly this biologist had deep, dangerous backing. Money really wasn’t that easy to earn! He didn’t dare be careless anymore and dispatched an elite combat team.

And history repeated itself.

The elite team disappeared too.

Gritting his teeth, refusing to believe in such bad luck, Lawrence sent a third squad.

Three days later, he stormed into the home of the mission broker, aiming his gun right between the man’s eyebrows, and snarled, “Are you f***ing running a sting operation on me?!”

The broker raised his hands with a forced smile. “Misunderstanding! Total misunderstanding!”

Lawrence sneered. “Fine. Then tell me—why the hell are my men mysteriously disappearing? Who exactly is this target?!”

The broker peeked nervously at the murderous men around him and realized lying would only get him killed. He sighed and admitted, “Who knew this task was so cursed… The other mercenary groups working the same mission also vanished.”

“I just got word—the boss of the White Shark Mercenary Group, Black Panther, disappeared too.”

…

Lawrence returned to his safehouse in a daze. Only this fortress-like place gave him any sense of security.

This entire mission reeked of supernatural danger. He should never have taken it!

But now he was inside his personal bunker—assembled down to the last bolt. Nothing should be able to breach it.

“Good morning, sir. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Lawrence instinctively whipped out his gun and fired in one smooth motion.

Amid the rattling gunfire, his eyes widened in disbelief—it was as if they would pop out of his skull.

The magazine ran dry. He continued to pull the trigger mechanically—click click.

Standing before him was a gentleman straight out of an oil painting.

Black top hat, vest over a dress shirt, fitted trousers, and a long black tailcoat. He looked like an English noble from centuries past.

With a courteous smile, he removed his hat in a perfect gentleman’s salute and mildly complained, “This isn’t a very hospitable greeting.”

If the bullets hadn’t passed through his body and lodged into the wall behind him, Lawrence would never have bothered looking twice at this pretentious aristocratic pretty boy.

Face pale, Lawrence roared, “Who the hell are you?!”

“I am the Devil.”

The “Devil” clapped enthusiastically, wearing an exaggerated grin. “Congratulations, Mr. Lawrence! You’ve won the grand prize—an all-expenses-paid trip to hell. Come now, let’s descend together.”

…

Angela felt her life brimming with hope lately!

And that hope was bestowed by the Demon King.

Ever since they summoned His Majesty the Demon King from the abyss two weeks ago, he had brought many changes to the desperate Myrica Continent.

First, the Demon King summoned a “great alchemist.”

“This alchemist can break the earth’s curse and make farmlands grow crops again.”

Angela was ashamed to admit she hadn’t believed him at first.

Because the human named Joseph did not resemble a great alchemist at all. She had seen many alchemists—proud, eccentric, reclusive, sometimes insane. The greater the alchemist, the less human they seemed—she had once met one whose half-body was made of steel.

But Joseph looked… ordinary. Like a normal noble.

Soon, Angela discovered Joseph wasn’t even an alchemist.

He couldn’t use alchemy at all. He had no magical aura.

So Angela was full of suspicion.

How could such a mundane person lift the curse on the land?

Joseph collected soil samples from various cities, then locked himself away for a week, tinkering with unknown things.

Angela grew increasingly anxious. In her mind, the Demon King had immeasurable power—he could easily fix the curse. Why had he instead handed this task to a fake alchemist? Was it because their faith was not devout enough?

Yes, that must be it.

They had once been devout servants of the God of Light, yet now prostrated before the Demon King. Such betrayal naturally could not earn divine mercy.

Just as Angela was drowning in guilt, ready to kill herself before the Demon King to wash away her sins with blood—

Joseph emerged, handing them a vial of “medicine” and a bag of seeds.

“Spread this over the farmland. It neutralizes the soil’s acidity. After three days, sow these seeds. Use a little magic to stimulate growth, and you should get crops.”

Angela followed the instructions half-believing, half-doubting—

And was stunned.

On the third day, earth-mages could already coax green wheat sprouts from the soil!

They were tiny now, but soon they would bear golden grains and fill the farmers’ granaries.

In that moment, Angela knelt in the prayer room, overwhelmed with shame.

“O Lord, I have sinned. I doubted Your will. Please punish me…”

A loving, gentle voice echoed through the room: “I forgive you.”

“Remember your mistake. Repent sincerely. Do not repeat it.”

Angela kissed the statue’s toes, eyes burning with fervor. “I obey. My life will follow only Your will, that Your kingdom may rise again upon the earth.”

In that moment, she believed with absolute conviction that with the Demon King’s protection, their world would not meet a tragic end.

…

Joseph was now giving Lawrence orders—demanding that he purchase large quantities of acidic-soil conditioners and fertilizers to restore the land’s fertility.

“Limewater neutralizes acidity, but its side effects are serious. The soil conditioners work slower but better, with no drawbacks. Add some fertilizer, and in a few years the land will recover.”

“Oh, also buy hybrid rice seeds from Huaxia, along with mung beans, buckwheat, rapeseed—acid-tolerant crops. They’ll help reduce the soil’s acidity.”

“And excavators, seeders, harvesters, cranes… Ask the Devil whether these can be transported here. If they can, get me a few thousand.”

Lawrence nodded bitterly.

He—a hardened mercenary, a walking nightmare for children in many countries—had been dragged into hell by the Devil… to grow crops.

Even worse—he had become a subordinate of the very same man he was hired to assassinate.

Such humiliation! Unprecedented humiliation!

Forcing a stiff smile, Lawrence asked, “Anything else?”

Joseph waved casually. “No, you may go.”

Lawrence had just turned when Joseph added, “Right—take your men and clear a hundred-acre field outside the city. Plant some rice. This world has never grown rice before, and I need experimental data.”

Grinding his teeth, Lawrence inhaled sharply. “Understood.”

Who could have imagined? All the subordinates he thought had died horribly were alive—dragged here by the Devil to farm and build infrastructure.

Even his old enemy Black Panther was here—reunited with him as unwilling laborers.

“If you want to return to your modern life of luxury, you’d better work hard to redeem yourselves. When you turn hell into paradise, I’ll let you go back to racing cars, drinking, shooting, womanizing, and chatting online.”

Damn it, this Devil wasn’t human!!

He used to live the high life—who wanted to survive in this primitive world where you walked everywhere, shouted to communicate, and shivered for warmth?!

But for the sake of returning home, Lawrence and his brothers clenched their teeth and worked.

He went to the prayer room, knelt, and relayed Joseph’s requests to the statue.

“I understand,” the Devil’s voice drifted down. “This phone will let you contact the outside world—one-way. Call your friends or relatives and have them buy Joseph’s supplies.”

A plain Nokia phone materialized before him.

Lawrence: …

The Devil beamed. “Dual SIM, standby for a whole month. A treasure.”

Internally swearing, Lawrence kept a polite smile. “Uh… money…”

The Devil blinked. “Didn’t you still have tens of millions of dollars in your bank account?”

Lawrence: …

Damn it. This Devil wasn’t human!

He was even paying out of pocket for labor! Not even the cruelest capitalist was this ruthless!

It was too much! Way too much!

Where was his dignity as a mercenary leader?!

What would people think if they knew?!

“If you’re dissatisfied,” the Devil added kindly, “I can send you to meet God. He may be more merciful.”

“No! Not dissatisfied!” Lawrence declared righteously. “I have committed many sins—please allow me to atone with money!”